


Far From Bedroom Eyes

by MurrFromImpracticalJokers



Category: No Country for Old Men (2007)
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, Comments appreciated, Drugs for sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Smut, Top Carson, bottom anton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29699508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurrFromImpracticalJokers/pseuds/MurrFromImpracticalJokers
Summary: The first time Carson and Anton met.
Relationships: Anton Chigurh/Carson Wells
Kudos: 2





	Far From Bedroom Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> this is just pure pwp tbh unless u squint

Carson knew that this life was evil. No other word to describe it. The last thing he wanted to do was excuse it and call it anything else that it wasn’t. All he could do was not give a damn because the day he started to care about the blood on the bottom of his boots was the day he’d lose it.

The motel he found himself in was shabby and unkempt but he didn’t mind. His hat sat next to a radio on the nightstand, playing a bit of Curtis Mayfield that blanketed the fire of tension Carson somewhat felt in the room. 

“You speak English?” He asked, making himself comfortable on the edge of the bed. The man across from him sat on a rickety chair, a small table between them. Carson didn’t get an answer as he dumped a small bag of coke on the table, his card at the ready. He split it as evenly as he could, swiping his portion back over to line it into three rows. 

The man just sat there.

It was a few hours ago when Carson had met the man. Standing on the sidewalk adjacent to an ice cream parlor and a liquor store respectively, Carson had waited. The sun was nestled between two towers in the distance, bowing ever lower. His jaw was working on the dip he had packed because it was better than doing nothing. There was a night he had a few months back where he’d put his gun against the temple of a woman and almost pulled the trigger. He had a feeling that if he’d done it, he’d never get her wailing out of his head. 

But he didn’t. So now the only thing that occupied his head was the sound of exhaust pipes and low revving engines as cars passed him by. 

Truly, the worst part of the job was the waiting. 

A truck turned the corner and crawled up to where Carson stood. He eyed it suspiciously, focusing mainly on the tarp that was pulled taut over the back. When his gaze pulled itself back to the driver, he raised his brow. 

The man glared back at him, a frown creasing his lips. He was younger than Carson by maybe ten years yet he looked more menacing than most. Carson knew better than to waste a man’s time but he also valued his life. He assessed the situation for another moment before spitting his dip into a sewer. 

“How you doing, compadre?” He slipped into the passenger seat, taking his hat off as he did. First thing he noticed was the duffle bag set between them.

The driver didn’t speak, which was fine by Carson. He pulled away from the street and onto the road.

Carson kept his eyes everywhere but the driver. He had met a few men who’d drive a knife into your gut if you looked at ‘em too long. It was better to be safe than have anything important spilling out. Last thing he wanted was to make a poor first impression.

They drove a long while in silence before pulling up to a club. Carson glanced at the duffle bag, wondering what was in it. He knew better than to ask. The owner of the club stepped up to the window, nodding at Carson. 

“Wells?” He asked. There might’ve been a tinge of hope to his voice that he wouldn’t be talking to the other guy. 

“Yes, sir.”

The manager grinned, reaching in to shake his hand. A few busboys made themselves busy with pulling the tarp away and grabbing the crates of booze from the back. The crates themselves no doubt had a little extra space on the bottom of them to hold god knows what. It was discrete which is what they paid for. Carson served as a representative, making sure everything was as it should be.

If the manager hadn’t paid for it by the due date, it’d be Carson’s job to take care of it. 

The transaction had been smoother than most, which was probably what got Carson into such a good mood to tell the driver to pull into a motel.

The driver didn’t understand until Carson flashed a small bag of coke, and even then he just gave Carson a death stare. It seemed to be all he was good for.

  
  
  


“What’s your name?” Carson asked him because it was better than sitting in silence.

“Why would you need to know?”

Carson glanced at him. He hadn’t expected an answer, let alone one with that much bass to back it. 

“No need for hostility, now,” He drawled.

The driver hummed.

Carson blinked at him for a moment before handing him his card, which he took, splitting his portion into rows.

The table they were snorting off of was probably more dangerous than the coke itself, but Carson had done it off of worse surfaces. With a sigh, he ducked his head and made quick work of the first row. 

He sat back, his heart starting to pick up. The driver looked at him curiously before doing the same.

Carson set a mental timer for how long the driver would last before his quiet demeanor diminished.

“So, what’s your name?” Carson asked again, two rows in while his companion had already finished his portion.

He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Anton.”

Carson watched him almost nuzzle into the chair, closing his eyes and riding out the wave of euphoria. Judging by his reaction, Carson made the assumption that this wasn’t his first time using the product he probably smuggled for years.

Carson eyed his last row before deciding to have a little fun. He fumbled his hand into his pocket and pulled out a switch. Flicking it open, the blade was thin and sharp, perfect for scooping a bit of cocaine on to.

He stood, walking over to Anton’s side. He watched as his eyes opened, his pupils blown out to hell, registering the knife and the coke on the tip of it. His tongue peeked out from his lips and dabbed against the coke coated blade before outright taking it in his mouth and sucking it.

Carson chuckled, pulling his belt loose with a new idea coming to his mind. Anton’s lips left the blade but his jaw still hung, giving a view to the streak of blood running down his tongue. Pocketing the knife, Carson trudged his slacks down just far enough to stick his cock in front of Anton who gladly buried his face to the hilt.

Carson groaned, feeling himself grow inside Anton’s mouth. He was gentle, far more than expected, beginning to bob his head slightly as he looked up at Carson. A hand snaked its way to the back of Anton’s head and pushed him into the mess of hair that occupied Carson’s groin. Anton worked against it slightly, finding a rhythm with the pushing and pulling. 

Drool pooled from his mouth, dripping onto the arm of the chair and onto the floor. The sounds he was making with the pops and squelches were enough to drive any good man crazy, but Carson was far from a good man. 

He dragged his hand through Anton’s hair, feeling it tangle around his fingers until he had a good enough grip to control his bobbing altogether.

Anton choked around him, taking a moment to adjust to the loss of control before bringing his eyes back up to stare at Carson, unbothered. It freaked Carson out more than anything, making it hard to enjoy himself. He roughly tugged Anton off of him by the hair, watching his eyes close as he swallowed deeply. His lips parted to breathe.

His eyes opened again. Still staring up at Carson.

Carson huffed, jerking his head towards the bed. There were plenty of ways to pleasure himself with Anton that didn’t involve his unrelenting gaze. 

He pushed Anton onto the bed.

“I’ll let you have my last line if you turn your pretty little face into the pillow and stick your ass in the air.” Carson stroked himself as he spoke. He didn’t mean to call Anton pretty, it was more of a reflex. Every coked-out whore liked to be called pretty. 

Just not this one, it seemed. 

Anton frowned up at him, his lips wet with spit that dribbled down to his chin. His face was sweating and his dark hair was falling flat. Besides not taking a liking to being called pretty, Anton looked just like the rest of ‘em.

He stuck his chest out in some sort of defiant gesture before reaching down to unbutton his pants. He wouldn’t give Carson the courtesy of looking away yet, and it didn’t help when Carson turned away himself, still feeling his eyes on him.

When he got his pants down to his thighs, Anton took his sweet time to have one last look at Carson before turning himself around, putting his face into the pillow, and sticking his ass up like a bitch in heat.

Carson pulled his wallet from the pocket of his trousers, opening it to see a stray rubber packet at the ready. Clamping his teeth on the corner, his tongue got a little taste of the plastic and jagged edges. He wasn’t too quick with his actions. Call him petty, but he wanted to get back at Anton. Keep him on his toes and let it be a surprise when he shoved his cock in his ass.

In a couple of years, he’d find out that men who tried to one-up Anton always ended up dead. Luck was a line of coke that night.

The condom rolled down his prick with a familiar slick noise. Carson shimmied forward, steadying himself with a hand on Anton’s back as he pressed himself into him. He was quiet for the most part save for the way his breath picked up. He couldn’t hide everything. No man could.

Without his mamba gaze, Carson found it much easier to enjoy the feeling of Anton’s tightness. His hips slowly stroked against him, the condom’s lubricant giving him room to wiggle. Gripping the hem of Anton’s shirt with bother hands, Carson snapped his hips forward and reveled in the smack that resulted. 

That was the start of his consistent yet brutal pace, thrusting into Anton’s hole with a bravado that he didn’t get to show often on the job. It was never wise to get cocky with so many hotheads in the room, which meant Carson only got to shed his persuasive businessman ego in the dark corners of clubs and the lamplight of a dusty motel. 

He fucked into Anton not as the levelheaded smooth guy he wanted to be, but as the killer he was. It was a release that most likely wouldn’t result in the end of his life just yet so of course he relished it.

The bed creaked noisily as Carson fucked Anton. He ignored the small streak of blood smeared on the condom. If Anton didn’t like it then he could use his words. But he didn’t. He just kept his pretty head buried in the pillows, quiet as a mouse. 

During most of his encounters, Carson was a gentleman in the sense that he tried to let both parties enjoy it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it this time. This was nothing but a trade. He got to cum, and Anton got to snort up. Nothing else to it. Carson would probably leave the motel not too long after to walk home and let Anton get himself off in private. It was the least he could do.

Carson watched the way Anton’s fist curled up, grabbing a handful of the sheets to keep himself from jolting around. It wasn't doing too well, giving Carson a moment to get creative and look at the way his hair fell wildly. The urge to grip it like reins to a horse as he had a few minutes ago washed over him. It made him smile because he knew this was pushing his luck, but his mother always said he was the luckiest boy on god’s green Earth, so…

Carson’s hand slipped down from the base of his back, up the jean jacket he hadn’t thought to take off, and into his hair like a snake in the grass. He’d gave Anton plenty of time to protest and all he got in return was a hum. Of satisfaction or warning, he couldn’t tell.

Sticking his hand in the sleeping lion’s enclosure, Carson tugged Anton’s head up, holding him by the hair, his back arched. Carson had to stop himself from hooting, the feeling was just too good as he fucked Anton. The fitted sheets popped up from the roughness of which they got it on.

Anton was finally making noise, albeit just a few huffs and puffs, but it was good enough for Carson. He grunted, picking up his speed for just a moment before he finally spurted into the condom. He threw his head back, using Anton to pump his cock as a sort of victory lap, grinning all the while because he knew he’d get away with it.

With a groan, he pulled out and shimmied back. Anton immediately turned around, yanking his pants up and still giving Carson that death stare which he just chuckled at now. 

Carson waved towards the table as he tore the condom off. 

“Go on now, you’ve earned it.”

Anton’s head turned ever so slightly in a way that sent shivers down Carson’s spine. He was once again reminded that Anton could kill him for this. The duffle bag came to mind. Whatever he had in there could range from nothing to something that could take Carson’s head off with the pull of a trigger. For just a second, his smile faltered and he looked away. 

In the corner of his eye, Carson saw Anton smile.

The weight on the bed lessened when Anton got up. Carson dared a glance as he watched Anton sit down with a slight wince before snorting up the last line. His eyes closed as he leaned back and sighed, riding a wave of euphoria.

Carson finally had the decency to tuck himself away and buckle his belt. Putting his hat back on, he tipped it towards Anton before deciding to walk home, leaving his bravado behind.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed, thanks for reading


End file.
